Sonder
by Balongdag
Summary: AU where Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are not twins. Kidnapped and brought to Iacon to be submitted to torturous experimentation that tore their single sparks apart, the two are subjected to the horrors of spark mutilation. Their sparks were twisted, pulled and cut until only halves remained, drawn towards each other until they finally merged into one.
1. Chapter 1

_Article writing_

 **Headlines**

 _ **Loosely based off 'Outlast'**_

 _ **Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are not brothers in this fan fic, they were forced to become split spark by experimentation.**_

 ** _The next chapter will be longer, and will of course contain Sideswipe and Sunstreaker_**

What is it about the processor that makes it so easy to tick? So easy to fall victim to emotions, to relationships, to a bond that you cling so tightly to. What mechanisms are there to function solely for another person, to grasp a tight hold, and keep them there while you feed off each other? Why would one do such a thing? What would happen when it's time to let go?

The grip would eventually become too tight, and the straining too taut, and the backlash so strong it would send you hurtling back, throwing emotion after emotion and leaving you alone, stranded in your own drowning sea. And what do you do after that? Heal? Or the opposite? Do you sit in a dry corner and weep until your spark simply couldn't endure another wail? Or does the hurt turn to anger, a bitterness that turns into rage and continues to boil and build until there's only room for an eruption of harsh words and regrettable actions?

Is that the limit of a bond? Of a processor, or can it be stretched even further, until it's malleable and unbreakable.

As a race, we share comms, EM fields, breathless words and deep relationships that can be easily snapped from just one flick of the flimsy string that's holding the entire connection together.

Has anyone pushed past that limit? Pushed past that point of a strong relationship to access the greater, and more powerful parts of two people. Has no one thought to unleash that sort of power? Mechs, connected like no other, working in tandem, becoming indestructible as they merge into one force. Mechs that would have to endure the others poignant disposition, or the others gregarious nature.

No one?

The answer is quite straightforward. It has nothing to do with the processor.

 **Kaon- Eons ago.**

4th Orbital Cycle - _Miners, degenerates, and any other low-class Cybertronians, are been plucked off the streets, gone before we can notice. If anyone cares too._

5th Orbital Cycle - _Mechs are disappearing left and right. Picked straight out of their jobs, missing with no trace, and no one willing to look. Their co-workers scratch their heads, some don't notice and others grow anxious as they fear that their turn may be next._

6th Orbital Cycle - _Enforcers are left scratching their heads as Dead End mechs are targeted for countless cases of kidnappings._

8th Orbital Cycle - **Miner revolt occurs in the depths of Kaon.**

9th Orbital Cycle - **Miner found mangled in** sewer **.**

10th Orbital Cycle \- **Rise in kidnapping; no chance for Dead End residents.**

12th Orbital Cycle \- **The last end?**

15th Orbital Cycle - **Targets are diversifying; Bodyguard adds to kidnapping count.**

17th Orbital Cycle - **New exhibition for hidden truth leads to disappearance of Senator *DISCONTUINED***

 **Kaon- Present Time**

The camcorder crackled, lens fritzing as it focused on a blurry figure illuminated by a bright light in an otherwise dark room. The camera brightened, focusing and bringing in a clear view of an average sized red and white mech lounging lazily in his chair. His paint was peeling off in some places, and the little flakes fluttered off his body and floated to the ground with each intake. The medic's cuffed hands rested stiffly on the interrogation table, optics vacant as he stared straight ahead.

A voice coughed off camera, clearing their vocaliser as papers were shuffled.

"Start from the beginning please, and spare no information." A cold voice intoned.

The mech sniffed, bringing his cuffed hands to his chest so he could jab a finger at whoever was behind the camera, "First things first. Before I get started, I want you all to know that I'm giving up this information because I'm not like them, I'm not," He paused, face considering, "one of them."

"Understood."

The medic eyed the mech behind the camera for a second, face serious as he considered him. But after a couple more seconds of silence, the expression dropped and he sighed, suddenly looking very tired and worn down. Whatever was weighing him down obviously gnawing at him.

"You all know when it started? When those miners went missing eons ago?" He asked as he lifted his head.

The mech behind the camera must have nodded, and the medic only spared a small glance up at him before he continued.

"They were all brought up to Iacon."

He paused again, making sure that the mechs in front of him were listening.

"There's an asylum and it's been there since the first war. Mechs who were deemed mentally unstable or a threat to themselves were put there. Locked away in the stuffy cells, some in cuffs for the majority of their time."

He paused, wincing as he averted his eyes, "I guess I didn't know how bad it was, but obviously it was too late to leave. They wouldn't let me, with all the things I had seen. With all the things I had done…"

He trailed off into a whisper, face mournful.

A sharp cough brought words tumbling from his mouth once more and the medic brushed flakes of paint from his shoulder as he told the enforcers about the miners, and how they were easy targets because no one could be bothered to report them, or even notice their absence. He told them about how Dead End mechs used to throw themselves at them, preferring to be submitted to experimentation than the starvation and rape they suffered through in the slums of Kaons.

"They had been doing experimentation since they opened, trying to create bigger, more powerful Cybertronians to fight for them. And it worked for some time. All they had to do was stick them in front of a screen, virus submitted into their processor to freeze their optics, forcing them to watch what we call 'lucid dreaming'. It drove them mad, drained their sanity away. You should have seen them. They were rusting, pale and all colour to their armour was melted down to grey."

Ambulon shuddered, remembering how patients would scream, empty processor nibbling on lost memories and forgotten normality.

"They were mentally deteriorated, and not many made it to the final stages."

"Final stage to what?"

Amublon shrugged, "I don't know, I didn't have the clearance."

He frowned, "But it angered the boss, and it was just when he and the other doctors and scientists were brewing up another idea. They sent us out, a reasonable amount of information withheld, and into the slums of Kaon once more."

Ambulon paused, glossa darting out to swipe over his denta nervously,"That was when we spotted him. We weren't given a specific mech, but the other mechs were adamant on him. However, times had changed, and it wasn't easy snatching bots off the streets anymore."

"Good." The voice said dryly, and the enforcer must have been glaring coldly down at the poor medic, and he hurriedly talked on, returning the glare.

"He was a trader, so it was easier to get him at the docks. But the other one, an artist or something. Always holed up in his apartment."

"How did you know that these two would match? That they would take to one another?"

Ambulon shook his head, "We didn't, it was a wild guess. But they did, and it was something I had never seen before. It was horrific, the creation of something... Abominable."


	2. Chapter 2

Servos were touching him. Tapping his optics, stroking his arms and legs, playing with his limp fingers and prying into the seams of his armour.

Something sharp pricked at the exposed protoform on his neck, and he groaned, energon lines pulsing as they took in whatever was injected.

He attempted to lift a hand, but it felt heavy, and his mind was drifting, straining under whatever weight was keeping him docile.

Anger prickled at his sensor net, and he distantly wondered why he was twitching, why his armour was running hot.

His spark thrummed, and another groan escaped his intake. The thumping against his casing was insistent and hard, like his very spirit was throwing itself against the metal encasing, desperate to be free of the cage that had suddenly become small and suffocating.

It wasn't supposed to be a cage. It was supposed to be a comforting house for an essence not meant touch bare air.

So why was his spark longing to burst out of it's case? Why did it thrum, writhe and scream at him?

Why did it pulse at him with a raw, primal need that ached his circuits, and frazzled his processor, making him forget how to intake a breath.

He wanted his spark to stop pulling away from him. The ache of the strain taunted his processor, and all he could do was lay there and listen to the sound of his spark twittering with an anxiety that felt akin to the unusual feel of been separated from something. His mind fell blank at what that something was, though.

* * *

Sideswipe, despite the busyness and the bustling mechs, liked the docks.

He liked the energy it held, and the mechs who ducked in between warehouses, who chatted and traded.

He enjoyed watching the craftier ones blackmail and bribe, conning with manipulative words until they got what they wanted.

He liked the docks.

The docks were a second home to him, his best work was done here, and the mechs who he had settled himself around were all brilliant in their own way. So stunningly themselves it never ceased to amaze him. He prided individuality. He was gregarious by nature, sure, but he liked being independent. Relying only on himself held a thrill he could never get over.

But he still loved walking among them, happily returning nods and cheerful smiles, basking in the attention.

Observing the mechs, catching all their quirks, all the little things that made them who they are, excited him. The entire area was so real, and so familiar to him. He knew every corner and nook there was, he knew the type of people who would come and go.

He abruptly, and without warning, felt detached, struggling as his processors strained, bursting out of place that suddenly did not feel like his.

He slipped through the veil, suddenly aware. Darkness, the stench of a stylized medical facility and the hard, unforgiving berth beneath him.

He sniffed, not wanting to face reality just yet.

The memories felt like him, they felt like his own, familiar and happy. But they were also new, sending an unfamiliar feel with him as he flickered through supposedly well-known occurrences that he had lived through.

Had he?

Red forearms that were not his own reached out to clasp servos with another mech, and a voice that was too high to be his spoke out careful, confident words that had the mech hanging off his sentences. That alone sent alarm bells. He wasn't confident. He was shy with words, awkward and quiet. No one hung off any words he spoke.

The imagines blurred, swirling into a mess of colours that were finally familiar until all he saw was black.

The tapping at his optics renewed, and he desperately wished he could boot them up to see who was causing the discomfort.

The prodding stopped, and the servos travelled down his face, pushing forcibly into his nasal ridge, tugging at his cheekbones and grasping his chin in a firm hold, as If the person was observing him carefully.

He was released roughly, and his body protested as fingers pried into the seams that lead into his spark casing.

His processor froze, stuck in frenzy of panic as his spark spurted different emotions, spewing joy and excitement as the servos pried the metal doors away, slowly revealing the shiny orb inside.

His spark flipped, reaching out of its cage to pulse out.

Something heavy was deposited over him, and he grunted as another mech was arranged on top of him.

He felt annoyed and confused, one of which felt unfamiliar, like a stray thought had intruded his own mind.

Above all his spark was the happiest, reaching out until it brushed up against something.

He froze, internal pump picking up speed as he curled his pedes, the only movement his body allowed.

Whatever was above him was squirming sloppily, and as his spark brushed up again, he realized what it was pushing against.

Another spark, and those little touches gave him the confused feeling of been rekindled, like his spark had lost a little piece of itself and was finally reuniting with it.

Each pulse was comforting, even if his processor was screaming with panic, thrashing in its own cerebral captivity.

The two sparks suddenly clashed together, spinning and merging happily. Screams filled his

Screams filled his audials, and he gasped as the weight disappeared.

He felt relieved, and his servos twitched, whatever injection given to him finally wearing off. He rubbed at the material under him, tiredly embracing the feeling of finally been able to move.

It was hard but smooth. Like armour.

His processor blanched, and he struggled, feeling another body jerk underneath him.

His vocalizer buzzed and clicked, and he blacked out again.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was colours. An abundance of the pastel globs that sat in a dirtied palette. The canvas next to it held the creation, and he gawked at the masterpiece some puddled paint had been turned into.

Instead of the dark sky, night had been captured with light colours, a horizon of blues, pinks and yellow hues. White stars peeked in-between each colour, and he tilted his head at the realism.

His optics whirred in an unknown feeling of content as he observed the picture painted in front of him.

It felt real and lived, but not his own.

His panic felt distant, but it felt real, and it also felt like his own.

The bent fringes of the sky were the last thing he saw as the image faded out and he was left with darkness.

* * *

"This has never seen before, I have never seen this before. I can't believe it finally worked."

"Of course it worked!" The red seeker snapped.

Ambulon glanced up at the two scientists, Starscream and Slipstream.

The two were observing the two bodies on the berth, squashed together as their sparks continued to merge.

Ambulon ignored the scientists as he typed hurriedly onto the datapad, recording every word, and taking each medical anomaly into consideration.

His fingers hovered back over to the top of the pad, and he frowned, glancing back up at Starscream and Slipstream.

"What do you want to call them?"

Starscream looked his way, face morphing into a scowl at the interruption, "What?"

Ambulon jerked a thumb in the 'twins' direction, "Those two, what do you want to call them?"

Starscream turned again, dismissing the conversation entirely as he began attending to the matters he deemed more important.

"Their original designations are fine, but they are to be called by the given patient numbers in their presence. Understand?" He muttered eventually.

Ambulon heaved a sigh, "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker it is."

Starscream's optics flickered, and he motioned for the medic, "It's time to put your skills to use Ambulon. Now, strip them to their protoform, and discard the armour."

The medic nodded and stepped close to the now separated twins. The yellow one was twitching, gaze empty as black optics stared forward unseeingly.

His stare flickered to the other one as he started to hyperventilate, squirming futilely as he shuddered and heaved. His whimpers filled the dull laboratory, giving the room something to echo that wasn't white noise.

Ambulon watched in interest as the other twin immediately started to panic at the red mechs anxiety, following him into a hyperventilating, worked up mess.

The medic tsked, and got to work as he made slow work of stripping their armour to the bare protoform, ignoring the sudden jerks, and whimpers that escaped both of their vocalizers.

He shook his head, optics watching the still exposed sparks dance, "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

* * *

He couldn't remember.

Mixed memories floated around in his processor, and stray thoughts snuck into his spark, feeding him emotions that weren't his own.

His processor felt dull and heavy, too drowsy to piece things together, to hold a coherent thought. All it could do was panic, and attempt to send his body into a convulsing mess as anxiety surged through his entire being.

He was flicking through memories, sending himself into a panic when he couldn't remember his life before this, laying on a cold berth that made his back ache.

His mind felt muddled.

When his optics finally booted up enough to see through static vision, he watched servos that weren't there touch his body.

They had to sedate him after that, when his screeching vocaliser and drowsy attempts at jerking through the immobilizing drug became too annoying for his captives.

He had to be going insane, he had to be imagining it.

His neutralizer buffers were suddenly brought offline, jerking himself out of muggy thoughts as touch and the feel of everything around him assaulted his sensors.

Something cold worked its way in between the seams of his armour, and he let out a crackling scream as it cut through the protoform that attached the metal to his body. He thrashed, clicking as his vocaliser frizzed and sputtered.

The pain was horrifying, and his audials ached as someone screamed and wailed next to him, sending the berth into a rattling fury as the mech jerked and whimpered with him.

The tool cut through his armour, peeling it off his searing protofrom.

He then heard it been dumped on the ground, and listened sadly as it was discarded. He couldn't even remember the colour of it, and his optics didn't offer enough visual feed to see the colour of his old armour.

Another wail escaped his vocalizer as the sharp tool pried with practiced, but cruel, precision at his chest casing.

He could feel energon welling up at each wound and scratch administered to his body. He felt it trickle down his protoform, mixing with other cuts and tears.

A hand mockingly stroked his cheek as the tool dug in particularly deep, but before he could be sent screaming into unconsciousness, a hand slapped him in the face, groggily keeping him awake as he was shaken by the mech torturing him.

"I'm not granting you the pleasures of falling unconscious."

He groaned, venting in relief as the tool finally stopped digging into his armour.

"Come on," A voice crooned, "Stay awake."

His optics suddenly flickered to life, much clearer than his previous attempts at accessing visual feed.

"Go on," The mech cooed as he came into view, "Take a look."

He hesitantly glanced down, entire body aching as his optics traveled the length of his body.

Mutilated. His entire body lay in ruins. His protoform was torn into and cut viciously deep, deep enough to leave jagged scars in its wake.

He shook, never even realizing that he was tremoring hard enough to rattle the berth. His processor erupted in panic, his vents wheezing as all his emotions enveloped him, tackling him with all their might and turning them into a whirlwind of anxiety. It took a hold of his weak spark and body as his audials roared with white noise.

His processor erupted in panic, his vents wheezing as all his emotions enveloped him, tackling him with all their might and turning them into a whirlwind of anxiety. It took a hold of his weak spark and body as his audials roared with white noise.

The only bit of his armour left was his chassis.

Yellow. He thought, the colour soothing him as he stared down at his body, finding a small bit of relief through finally seeing who he was. Even if who he was, was a mutilated mess of energon and cuts. Would he always look like this now?

The medic was suddenly in his view again, snug at his side as he trailed sharp claws up and down his chassis.

He wanted the slimy mech to stop touching him.

"Pretty, I'll admit." He said absently as his optics flickered up to the immobilized mechs face.

The fingers dug in, claws tearing at the paint as he angled them down, running his fingers through the armour and sending the terrible noise of something sharp been dragged down metal echoing around the room, the sound deafening as he dug his fingers in deeper until the metal screeched and screamed.

The paint was picked away, right in front of his optics, and he was forced to watch in horror as his body was mutilated.

The little strips of paint fluttered to the ground, leaving an ugly grey in its wake as more strips were forced through the cutting edges of the medics claws.

'Disgusting', he thought as he watched his armour slowly turn into a grey, ugly, patchy mess. Only hints of yellow still adorned his armour, and he cringed at the scratches, the sounds of the medic scraping and picking at each bit of paint echoing in his audials.

Disgusting.

"Very pretty indeed." Ambulon murmured condescendingly as he picked up one of the fine paint strip, dangling it in front of the mechs optics. He smirked as rubbed at the thin paint, until it was ground down to nothing between his thumb and forefinger.

He flicked the remaining dust particles in the mech's face, laughing as he twitched and jerked his head.

Disgusting.


	3. Chapter 3

When he came to, he was met by the pleasant feeling of being under no influence from any sedative or drug. Nothing to make him 'compliant.'

His limbs still felt weak, and they ached with each pulse of energon that flowed through his lines. The long period of time he had gone for without moving could be held accountable for his stiff pain.

He frowned, suddenly remembering that he had no idea how long it had been. His memories were foggy, mismatched so badly that he couldn't even figure what was his and what wasn't. Had he been here for long? If so, was anyone missing him? Did they know he was gone? Did they care that he was suffering in a lab that smelt of fresh energon and the jarring tang of metal?

His processor sent out a burst of panic, and his spark whirred, ignoring the feeling as it chirred in its casing, reaching out once more.

He had eventually gotten used to his spark trying to push itself away from his body. No matter how unnatural, he couldn't bring himself to care, nor could he bring himself to look down at his maimed and lacerated protoform. Not when his very essence of being was so content, shifting and bobbing around as it bumped itself against his chest.

His processor derided his spark at every chance it could, but the orb continued to dance and whine, asking for something that he wasn't willing to give.

Another spark.

He glanced around, craning his neck as best he could to get a good glimpse at his environment.

Gurneys were riddled with suspicious, and grotesque stains, the metal corroding away as rust took its place.

He shifted, feeling uncomfortable as he glanced down at the berth he was on. Much the same, but only a tiny bit cleaner than the gurney, which did nothing to ease his queasiness as he squirmed on energon stains and other bodily fluids that made his fuel tank queasy.

He suddenly could feel each open wound on his back, rubbing on the filth that was his berth, and mixing in with fluids that weren't his own.

The rest of the lab was empty, and he avoided looking at particularly nasty looking medical tools and sinks with bloodied internals that laid discarded in small dishes.

His gaze shifted to the other side of them room, and he gasped softly as his spark gave a demanding shove, his optics landing on a limp mech, protoform much like his own, his red armour abandoned on the ground.

His optics fluttered, ignoring his spark as it began its incessant shoving, once again desperate to escape its casing.

The mech was conscious, he realized, watching as pale optics stared blankly up at the dirtied ceiling.

He wondered if his own optics looked like that, dim, and almost dead with an inscrutable cryptic gaze.

He opened his mouth, glossa feeling along each of his denta as he stared at the mech nervously.

Who was he?

His mouth closed, mind drawing up blank at what to say.

'Hello' felt too friendly for such a horrible environment, and 'who are you?' felt demanding, too pushy for someone in the same predicament as himself

"Can you hear me?" He asked instead, voice soft, and he winced at the crackling of static that followed each word.

Silence ticked by, and he wondered if the mech heard him, or if his audials were even functioning.

"Yes." The other mech answered eventually, waiting through another lapse of tranquillity as they both got lost in the quiet sounds of the laboratory before he finally acknowledged him.

He had always like the sound of silence, finding it much more comforting than the often judging voices of others.

"Were you talking to me? Or the void, and now you're shocked because it answered."

He shook his head, glancing sheepishly over to the other mech, who was still staring up at the ceiling, realizing that he had failed to answer this time.

"I can."

The other mech laughed, vocaliser crackling and hissing as the dry sound came out, not sounding at all happy or lyrical.

"You haven't seen it, have you?" He inquired blithely, a tight smile slithering across his lips as he finally broke contact from the ceiling, instead drawing his gaze to rest on his own resting body.

Pale optics scanned over his scarred protoform, similar to his own, lingering on his chassis, before once again drifting back to the ceiling.

He frowned, optics spinning in their lenses as he glanced down.

They had given him a completely clear spark casing.

He stared, intake picking up speed, pumping away until his breath left his vents and his processor whirled around unclear thoughts.

Red, angry and throbbing.

His spark twirled in its casing, practically showing off the scars, the black edges and the red shadows that bounced out from the casing as it bobbed around.

Mutilated. Left shrunk and jagged, looking so small in his casing.

He shuddered, eyes locked on the dismembered spark.

Why was it so small?

Why was it still happy? Why was it bouncing around with such alacrity that it made his fuel tank churn?

Why did it still sing, and chirr, and hum when it was butchered, no longer gleaming with a fresh, glowing white. A glowing white that shone like a lonesome star in a pitch black sky.

The orb was now red, with jagged and gutted black lines that were littered across the glowing embers.

He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out, except for a few hitching breaths and dry heaves that hurt his throat and put pressure on his vents.

He felt like he was falling, the gut-wrenching feeling of your tank plummeting out of your stomach all too similar.

Why did his spark and processor feel like two different mechs?

A quiet buzz fluttered around his audials, and he tremored, gasping as a humorless laughter joined In with the faded background noise that was assaulting his sensors.

It grew louder, haughtier, a mockingly dry sound that rocked his core.

" _Do you remember?"_ A soft voice asked, slipping into his head and coiling itself around his own conscience, whispering softly into his own spark and processor.

His audials picked up no sound, and he squelched every thought in his mind, trying to block each image, notion and thought that floated around in his conscience.

 _"Do you remember?"_ It hummed, sneaking into his processor and giggling.

He shrieked.

* * *

He felt delusional.

He kept seeing broken images, fluttering above his head as they spread out across the ceiling, spiraling across it in waves of colours and shapes.

It was mesmerizing, but it hurt his processor, sent it aching and screaming at him as he stared up, optics stiller than they'd ever been.

He couldn't pull himself away from the patterns if he tried. They called to him, puttered around him, soothing him despite the pain they caused.

He ignored the shrieks of the other mech, seeing a brief image of his own spark slipping in amongst all the shapes and colours.

Red against an abundance of pastel colours.

Jagged black lines. The orb faded out, spluttering across the entire ceiling in a quick flash, leaving shadowy greys in its wake.

Hands were suddenly touching him, and the screaming grew louder.

He ignored them, eyes on the ceiling as he was dragged up, hands holding him tightly underneath his arms as he was tugged across the floor. Cuts in his protoform protested as they were jostled, opening the wounds to let fresh energon out.

He could feel each little trickle, slipping down his back and over his arms to drip onto the ground. Each flap of his protoform screamed in agonized pain as they were covered in grime, or caught in cracks or by loose screws.

He didn't yell, too enthralled by the cloud like shapes fluttering over his optics, following him as he was pulled across the floor.

They burst bright green at him as he was hauled up onto the other berth, where the mech screamed and thrashed, restraints rattling and jerking the berth as he was pulled on.

The scientists rolled him onto his stomach, right on top of the squalling mech.

His chest plate parted, and he stared down at the panicked face. The face that was twisting in so much negative emotion, lips curling in distress as his cheeks began to flush a red hue.

Panicked optics met desolated ones, and they stared at each other.

He found himself lost in the other's optics as the pictures picked back up, flashing in-between the blue of the lenses as they danced and hovered once more, showering him in flashing images that echoed in the other mechs optics.

Their sparks met each other, merging into one, and the mechs eyes rolled upwards, screeching into the stale air as he wriggled and thrashed.

He stared.

The images were becoming overbearing, and his processor itched.

They spiraled outwards, before curling back into the mechs optics.

He giggled once more, " _Do you remember?"_

* * *

"Do not talk to me."

His anxiety had turned to anger, and hatred filled his spark.

All he got back from the other mech was a disillusioned feel of detachment.

Colourful images sometimes assaulted his optics, and he tried to block them out, but no matter how hard he shoved at the other mech, he still always floated back. Knowingly or not, he didn't care.

Each little feeling and thought he got from the other mech terrified him. It angered him to his core because he still didn't know what exactly had been done to him, to both them, but it terrified him.

He was losing himself to a mech he didn't know, a mech who had seemingly taken some of his spark, ripped it away from him and taken it for himself.

 _'More like took both of our sparks, mashed them together, and then tore at them until they split in half.'_

"Get out of my head." He snarled, optics narrowing into a slicing glare.

A scowl flickered across his face when he got no reply, and he settled back into the berth, eyes fixated on anything that wasn't the broken orb that he now had to call his spark.

It wasn't even his spark anymore, he was a part of the crazy mech who was creepily vacant, staring with a vacuous expression at the ceiling, form eerily still from when he woke until he fell into recharge.

He didn't have a life-force anymore, his essence was gone, not to call his own anymore.

He still couldn't even remember his name.

" _Do you remember?"_

" _GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"_

It took the detached laughter of the other mech to realize he hadn't said it out loud.

* * *

"Proteus."

"What is it, Sentinel?"

Sentinel frowned, leaning up against the doorway as he observed the senator, "Some mechs are getting suspicious."

"If it's the low-class bots again just dispose of them, you should know that." He grumbled, finger swiping through datapads as he scanned through them briefly,

The security officer shook his head, "It's not the low class this time."

"Then who? Stop being dramatic and just spit it out." Proteus commanded, impatience belittling his tone as he switched off the datapad

Sentinel shuffled further into the office, arms crossed as he eyed the senator.

"Well?" He ventured, fingers encasing each other as he rested his elbows on the desk.

"We have senators getting suspicious, sir." Sentinel finally disclosed, watching as the senator's mouth twisted into a scowl.

"And who would that be?"

"Senator Shockwave."

Proteus's optics narrowed, whirring in their lenses as he unfolded his hands, "Has he said anything yet, made a scene? Or is he doing something quietly, diminishing our stance behind our backs once again?"

Sentinel shrugged, "I'm just your security mech."

"He's to recalcitrant for his own good, so unseemly for a senator. But if he hasn't said or done anything now, he will soon. And then, well, one more 'patient' won't hurt."

* * *

Starscream smirked, observing the 'twins' in his laboratory. One of them, the lucid dreamer, was staring at the ceiling, while the other glared at him, struggling in his restraints as Starscream ventured over, picking up a sharp medical incision tool as he went.

He was excited, as he always was when his experiments were successful. What he hated, was failed experiments, and he couldn't wait to introduce his successful test subjects to the abundance of mechs who had died, maimed and mutilated, in the room next door. They were clumped together, a pile of dead bodies rusting away because he couldn't be bothered to move them.

But they mattered no more, all that mattered was he could finally move forward in his studies. A race of forged mechs couldn't stop at two, after all.

A genetic code, developed by himself, with the help of some other staff. A code that can be implanted with time, to spread their core and wiring, and kick-start his new experiments, his new race.

Some of them had been unsure, not willing to lose the first successful batch they had in cycles.

"Won't this mean one of them will have to…" Slipstream had said, trailing off as she waited for a confirmation.

"Yes." He'd replied, confident that his work would succeed.

He moved closer to the berths, standing between the two as he took in the sight of the two mechs that would soon come in an abundance.

"Let's try something, shall we? Something that might help you understand your situation."

His voice came out clear, with haughtiness coating each word as he leered condescendingly at them, twirling the tool between his fingers.

He lifted it, watching it glint in the yellow light of the room, before plunging it into the thigh of the mech staring at the ceiling.

He shrieked, optics finally losing focus as he thrashed in his bonds, screaming as Starcream twisted the knife, and smiling when the other one joined in, thrashing as if he were the one being stabbed.

Energon oozed out of the wound, the other mech screaming with his counterpart as the tool was pushed deeper, and Starscream watched excitedly as they matched each other's pain.

"This," He laughed, "Is only test one."


End file.
